


Eagle Eyes

by Euphorion



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Exhibitionism, Fingerfucking, M/M, Masturbation, Smut, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Vibrators, Voyeurism, a tiny bit of badly-paced buildup and then some smut, barely, no like seriously this is like, photographer!Izuki, trans Izuki
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-06
Updated: 2015-11-06
Packaged: 2018-04-30 07:56:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5156135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Euphorion/pseuds/Euphorion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Izuki’s gaze slid over his skin, coming to rest at Hayama’s hip. He crossed to him, and repositioned the hand on his waist so that two of Hayama’s fingers were slid into his waistband, his own fingers dipping quickly and then retreating in order to place them properly. “It’s not necessarily not sexual,” he said quietly, and took hold of Hayama’s other wrist, moving his hand down from gripping his neck to laying flat against his chest, over his heart. “But there’s a joy, too.” He stepped back, looking Hayama up and down. “A sort of—sincerity of body and heart.”</i>
</p><p> </p><p>+</p><p>Hayama meets a hot photographer. That's it, goodbye. More a series of snapshots (appropriate, considering) than anything else—don't expect any kind of plot or conflict at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eagle Eyes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [indevan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/indevan/gifts).



“Need a light?” 

Hayama looked up from patting all of his pockets for the third time. There was a boy watching him, split off from the crowd streaming out of the photo classroom. He was tall, with an easy grace to him; a surety of where the world was placed under his feet. His black hair was pulled back into a bun, and there was a shadow of stubble along his sharp jaw.

When Hayama met his eyes, he smiled. “Trade you a light for a drag—I’m out.”

Hayama nodded. “Sure, thanks!”

The guy stepped closer, and Hayama took the cigarette from behind his ear, accepting the yellow lighter from the guy’s hand and lighting up. When he breathed out he noticed the guy was still watching him. His eyes were—cool, Hayama decided was the right word, though maybe a little scary, too. Bright and pin-sharp and knowing. 

“Did I see you at the photo show last week?” the guy asked.

Hayama bounced a little on his toes and passed him the cigarette. There had been a lot of people at that show, but he did hang out there for hours—mostly because he’d been hoping to meet whoever had taken those amazing portraits of Nebuya and Reo. “Yeah, I was there,” he said. “It was a really good show.”

The guy nodded. “It was,” he said. “What was your favorite part?”

Hayama watched him take a drag, his lips letting the smoke out in a thin stream, directed and precise. He’d always been bad about oral fixations, and this guy had really nice hands, holding Hayama’s cig to his equally really nice lips. “There was, uh,” he said, and looked away. “A series of portraits, they were of my friends? Nudes. They were gorgeous, did you see them?”

The guy’s eyes shifted sideways to his, and he held out Hayama’s cigarette. “Don’t think so.”

Hayama shook his head, accepting it back, their fingers brushing. “Aw, man, they were incredible. That’s why I’m like. Lurking, actually. Wanted to find the guy that did them. He—“ he shook his head. “Somehow he managed to capture like. Exactly what makes them them, by—they’re like such contrasts on the surface, physically and personality-wise, but by sort of pushing them into each others’, like. Aesthetics…” He breathed in smoke, bottled it up in his throat. “He just did a lot of cool stuff with power and gaze and gesture and stuff, I guess. I don’t know, you’d probably know better, being all.” He gestured. “Photographer.” He held out the cigarette for the guy to take.

The corner of the guy’s mouth turned up, his eyes warming. They were like a bird’s, Hayama decided. An eagle, maybe. “100% all natural photographer,” he agreed. “No GMOs, no additives,” he paused, taking the cigarette, and indicated it with a raised eyebrow. “A couple addictives, though.”

Hayama laughed, startled, and Eagle Eyes grinned at him, something more much genuine than the suave hipster aura he’d been giving off so far. His cheeks were a little pink, and when he breathed out smoke again it was in a much less collected cloud. “I, um,” he said. “I’m glad you liked my work.”   
Hayama’s laughter faded, and he stared at him. “Your—? You lied to me!”

Eagle Eyes made a sort of embarrassed face. “Don’t think too badly of me,” he said. “I saw you at the show hanging around my stuff and I wanted to ask what you thought but you were clearly so close to Reo and Nebuya that I got stressed that you wouldn’t like them and you wanted to like. Fight me for invading their privacy or something.”

Hayama shook his head. “You thought I wanted to fight you?” he asked, baffled.

“You’re very intense-looking,” Eagle Eyes said, apologetic. He gestured to his eyebrow and to his mouth, clearly meaning Hayama’s piercings.

Hayama made pinchy-fingers at him, and he coughed, handing back the cigarette with a muttered, “sorry.”

“Lots of people have piercings, you know,” Hayama said, a little disgruntled. He didn’t want cute boys thinking he wanted to fight them all the time, that would be a huge bummer.

“It’s also just kind of your. Energy?” Eagle Eyes lifted a shoulder. “You’ve got like this. Exuberance to you. I actually,” he squinted, “I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind me taking your picture. Sometime.”

Hayama stared at him. Him? Model for this guy? But he wasn’t—not like Reo and Nebuya were, and.

The guy colored. “I don’t, um. Only do nudes, if you’re uncomfortable—“

Hayama blinked, and then grinned. “I don’t mind,” he said, shifting a little closer. “That sounds awesome.”

Eagle Eyes nodded, and stuck out a hand. “Izuki Shun.”

Hayama took it, appreciating the length of his fingers, the callouses on his palm. “Hayama Kotaro.”

+

“Yeah,” said Izuki softly, “that’s—right there.”

Hayama stopped moving, trying not to shiver. It’s not that it was cold—Izuki had positioned him in direct sunlight, framed by the window of the empty classroom—but he wasn’t wearing a shirt and he felt. Exposed. Not necessarily unpleasantly so. He kept his hand wrapped around the joint of his shoulder and neck, the other tucked into his belt-loop, and felt like some kind of. Pin-up model.

“You know, it’s weird,” he said, because the silence made his heart race. “I feel like sometimes models wearing some clothes are more obviously sexual than models wearing none, because like—the naked form is so artistic, and used in artistic ways, but like half-dressed is always kinda sexy—“

Izuki stepped out from behind his tripod to raise a thin eyebrow at him. He had his hair down, and seemed more comfortable in general than he had even a few days ago, when they’d tried to do this the first time. It made Hayama feel great, like he was doing something right to have Izuki let down some walls. Also the first few buttons of his shirt open over his binder in a way that framed his collarbones in an extremely distracting fashion, which. Made him feel great in a different way.

“Are you saying you’d like to be wearing less clothes?” Izuki asked, arch.

Hayama let the hand at his waist sit heavy, tug his jeans down his hip a little. “Maybe,” he said, daring. “But isn’t that up to you? Depends on what you’re looking for, here.”

Izuki’s gaze slid over his skin, coming to rest at Hayama’s hip. He crossed to him, and repositioned the hand on his waist so that two of Hayama’s fingers were slid into his waistband, his own fingers dipping quickly and then retreating in order to place them properly. “It’s not necessarily not sexual,” he said quietly, and took hold of Hayama’s other wrist, moving his hand down from gripping his neck to laying flat against his chest, over his heart. “But there’s a joy, too.” He stepped back, looking Hayama up and down. “A sort of—sincerity of body and heart.”

Hayama swallowed hard, and Izuki hummed a little in satisfaction, disappearing behind his tripod again.

+

Izuki shut the door behind him, and Hayama popped to his feet. “Hey,” he said. “Hey. Missed you.”

Izuki tugged him in and brushed a kiss over his mouth. “Missed you too,” he said against Hayama’s lips, then pushed him back a little. “Got something to show you. A birthday present. A present to present, as it were.”

Hayama blinked at him. He always punned more when he was nervous. “But it was your birthday, that was the whole point of you going away, spending it with all your old friends.”

Izuki nodded. “Yeah, it was a present to myself,” he said, “but I think you’ll like it, too.”

He took a breath and pulled off his shirt.

Hayama stared. Izuki wasn’t wearing his binder, and through each of his nipples was a tiny silver barbell, glinting in the early sunshine. “Oh my god,” said Hayama, reaching out a hand to touch Izuki’s abs, knowing better than to trace his hands upwards even if. God, he wanted to so badly. “God, that’s so hot.”

Izuki beamed at him. “No touching,” he said, as if Hayama didn’t know how piercings worked. “They have to heal. But.”

“Yeah,” said Hayama. He curled his hands around Izuki’s hips and pulled him close. “They’re amazing,” he said, kissing him in the center of his chest. “You’re amazing, this is the best birthday present I’ve ever had for someone else’s birthday.”

Izuki ran his hands into Hayama’s hair, cradling him close. “I really like the way they feel,” he admitted. “The ache of them, the way they feel against clothing. I like—“ he paused. “Reclaiming myself, like. These things are me, this body is me. Planting a flag, kinda.”

“I’ll plant your flag,” Hayama muttered, for lack of a way to express the respect he felt, the awe. 

Izuki laughed at him. “Leave the puns to me, babe.”

Hayama made a face against his skin. “Not a pun, innuendo.”

Izuki shrugged, his hands tugging and messing with Hayama’s hair. “Same thing. Punnuendo.”

Hayama shook his head. He kissed his way down Izuki’s stomach, and when he shivered Hayama looked up at him, flicking his tongue out to display its own barbell. “I might not be able to enjoy your piercings yet,” he said, smirking, “but you can certainly enjoy mine.”

Izuki caught his face in his hands and curled down to kiss him hard. “I really did miss you,” he said, fierce, and then let him go. “Okay, continue.”

Hayama laughed, pressing it against Izuki’s waistband, and flicked his jeans open with his thumb.

+

Izuki was watching him with those pin-sharp eyes, and Hayama stretched upward, giving him as coy a look as he could muster, his cheeks hot. He felt—pinned down by that gaze, like rough nails on his skin. It was not at all an unpleasant feeling, but having Izuki’s actual hands on him would be much, much better.

“Izuki,” he said, squirming against the sheets. “C’mon, get over here.”

Izuki shook his head, taking a breath, and lowered his head behind the camera again. “Touch yourself,” he said, more suggestion than command, but Hayama’s stomach jumped anyway. 

He swallowed hard, sliding a palm down his chest, tracing over his abs, tugging at his happy trail. “Don’t you want to do it?” he suggested, tracing his fingers down the line of his hip to his thigh and back up. He could see about half of Izuki’s face, could see his throat bob when Hayama’s fingers hovered over, but didn’t touch, his straining cock. “Oh,” he said, his voice coming out throaty; “you wanna see me, huh?”

“Please,” said Izuki immediately, and then coughed. “I mean—yes, please, that.”

Hayama blinked slow at him and continued to slide his nails over the muscles of his hips and thighs. “You wanna see what I do when I’m thinking about you? Because I do. Think about you.”

He ran the tip of one finger lightly up his erection, his shoulders twitching as his own body cursed him out as a tease, and heard the click of the camera’s shutter. “Oh,” he said again, almost more gasp than word, because that—fuck, that was so hot. “God, Izuki—“

“Y-you make,” said Izuki, and then audibly swallowed, “such an incredible picture.”

Hayama grinned at him, letting two fingers trail over himself now, still torturously light. “I feel better than I look,” he pointed out. “Bet I can make you touch me before I come.”

The shutter snapped again—Izuki probably wanted to catch his smile, he was such a fucking sap—and then Izuki said, a tiny bit shakily, “you’re on.”

Hayama hummed to himself and rolled to his feet, crossing to his dresser.

“Hey,” Izuki protested, “no leaving the frame—“

“Should’ve laid out better ground rules before you agreed,” Hayama countered, unsympathetic, and retrieved a few things from his underwear drawer before returning to the bed. He lay down on his stomach—carefully; bucked involuntarily once against the sheets with a tiny groan and then—because Izuki made a small strangled noise—looked up, straight into the camera’s lens, and rolled his hips again, his eyes half-lidded and his canine sinking a little into the flesh of his lip.

Izuki shifted in his seat, one of his hands hanging against his thigh but not touching, and Hayama licked his lips. Propping himself up on his elbows, he picked up the small bullet vibe he’d retrieved from his drawer and popped it between his lips, making sure to hold eye contact with the camera as he worked his tongue around it. He sat up on his knees so he could open the little bottle of lube he’d also grabbed.

“Oh my god,” Izuki breathed, as he poured cool lines of lube down his stomach and across his erection, his body shaking a little with spread-open position of his thighs—he’d wanted his cock framed as much as possible, and was a little disappointed by how long it took Izuki to press the shutter button. Although. Probably a compliment.

He pulled the vibe out of his mouth and swiped a hand up his dick once, but didn’t let himself linger—he had a bet to win, and he was already. Much closer than he thought he might be. There was something about the featureless stare of the camera that made everything feel—sharper, more dangerous somehow, like it could be more than just Izuki watching him like this, and it pressed up and in on him, all those potential eyes on his skin. He swallowed hard and ran his slick fingers back behind his balls to circle and press, his eyelids fluttering. 

“Izuki,” he said, so all the other eyes would know who this was for, whose hands he wanted, whose mouth. “Izuki, please.”

“Fuck,” Izuki said, his voice low and rough and needy. “God, Hayama—“

Hayama opened his eyes to see his hand moving, drawing little circles against the front of his shorts, and he shook his head. “Mmn, no,” he said, rocking down onto his fingers a little. “You don’t touch me, you don’t get to touch yourself.”

Izuki’s hand slowed, and he pressed the shutter button again, and Hayama grinned. “Yeah,” he said. “Keep your hands on the camera, eagle eyes.”

He slid a finger deeper inside himself, letting his head drop back with a groan, and Izuki muttered, “jesus,” the shutter snapping again and again. It didn’t take long for Hayama to work himself open—it hadn’t been that long since the last time Izuki had last put their strap-on to use, after all—and soon he raised himself up on his knees, his thighs trembling with the strain of the position. He stared into the camera—knew Izuki’s eye was behind that anonymous lens—as he pulled his fingers out and traced them up to toy with his nipples. “Want you to fuck me,” he said, honestly and calculatedly at once, pinching and rolling his nipples between his fingers. “Izuki— _Shun_ , I, I want you to fuck me ’til I can’t breathe, _please_.”

Izuki’s whole body twitched—Hayama saw his knees jerk together, his hips shift hard against the chair—and he said in a strangled voice, “you’re—god, you’re killing me.”

Hayama licked his lips. “Don’t be so stubborn,” he said, and traced a hand down to palm over his cock. He was so hard that even such a quick, brisk motion made his whole body curl, and the ragged gasp he gave was completely unintentional. “You don’t wanna fuck me,” he managed, licking his lips again and again and taking his hand off his cock with an effort, “at least take my mouth—wanna taste you, please, you taste so good—“

He fumbled, his hands shaking, for the vibrator, and when he found it he switched it on. His knees were beginning to ache so he sank down onto his back and pulled them up to his chest, running the vibrator across his balls and thighs, displaying himself for the camera and Izuki’s eyes.

“H-hayama,” Izuki breathed, and Hayama slid the vibrator into himself, guiding it until it sat trembling in the perfect, impossibly intense spot inside him.

He let out a groan that started in his hips and washed upward and out his mouth. Pleasure was rolling through him, earthquake waves of it, and he couldn’t stop licking his lips. “Want you,” he said, barely able to keep their bet in mind, he just—he needed Izuki’s hands on him. “Please, please—touch me, do anything to me, please, I can’t—“

He was leaking all over his stomach and his thighs and ass were wet with lube and he could hear the staccato, inconstant clicking of the shutter. He could feel himself writhing, his fists clenched in the sheets at his sides in an effort not to touch, not to touch, a single touch and he would fall apart and there was—there was an important reason not to fall apart, even if it kept getting knocked out of his head by more and more desperate pleases, some of which made it out his mouth and some of which died in his throat as choking gasps. He took a long breath and then there was a hand on his thigh, stilling him, and he was arching, arching into a body against his body and a mouth—familiar and biting and so so desperate—against his mouth, and he bit down so hard on Izuki’s lip he tasted iron, the world whiting out as long, calloused fingers wrapped around him.

He came back to himself to find Izuki sitting up, straddling his thighs, licking at a spot of blood on his lip and pulling his shirt off over his head. His nipples were hard, their little silver barbells jutting out, and Hayama wanted his mouth on them more than anything in the world, right now, if he could only get himself to move. Izuki pressed him back down when he tried, though, strong hand in the center of his chest, his hips working as he rubbed himself rhythmic and desperate against Hayama’s thigh, and Hayama swallowed hard. “I think,” he said thickly, unable to stop running his eyes over Izuki’s body as Izuki tossed his shirt away, “I think I won?”

“Tie,” Izuki said shortly, and grabbed Hayama’s hand, shoving it into his open fly and between his legs. His underwear was soaked, and Hayama groaned, crooking his knuckles against it trying to just—breathe right as Izuki ground down hot against his hand, his breath shallow. “You, fuck,” Izuki said, his voice low and rough, “you have no idea how fucking hot you are, do you?”

He still had his hand wrapped around Hayama’s wrist and he pressed a thumb hard against the tendons there to get him to uncurl his fingers. Understanding, Hayama took a breath and pushed the soaked cloth out of the way, burying two fingers deep into him, and Izuki made a high, keening kind of noise, his nails digging into Hayama’s pulse point, riding his hand hard. Hayama wrapped his free hand around Izuki’s hip, nominally to help pull him up and down but really just to feel the shifting muscle there, to be able to feel him move. 

“Wish, god, wish I had your camera right now,” Hayama said, strangled, as Izuki ran a hand up his chest to pull at his nipple piercings. “I’m not the only one who’s hot as fuck.”

Izuki curled down over him to bite at his mouth, muttering, “next time, we’ll switch places” and Hayama laughed and groaned and bit him back, his body light and trembling and drained.

**Author's Note:**

> uhh hello I don't! write straight-up smut that often so this was pretty fun. hope you enjoyed it—these two are adorable and get together post-canon & you can't tell me otherwise. HAYAMA LAUGHS AT HIS JOKES okay bye


End file.
